


a cliff, the wind, the wine-dark sea

by cygnes



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnes/pseuds/cygnes
Summary: Patrick, Jean, and the honeymoon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://manzanas-amargas.tumblr.com/post/146820719410/patrickjean-or-patrickluis-19-im-so-curious) on my tumblr, as part of a set of two _American Psycho_ ficlets. (The other, a Patrick/Luis vignette, can be found at the link.) Written for [scioscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe), for the prompt "things we said when you were the happiest we ever were." 
> 
> This draws slightly on the [American Psycho 2000 emails](http://www.briankotek.com/psycho/movie/am2000.cfm) (which I love), but they aren't required reading to understand this fic.

The honeymoon is Jean’s first time out of the country. Part of the wedding preparation on her end was applying for a passport. The wedding itself was probably dazzling, but what she remembers are the uncomfortable details: her parents, self-conscious, trying very hard not to embarrass her. Sean, bored and probably high, making a pass at her sister. Jean’s face had started to ache from smiling (for the guests in the reception line, for the endless photos of the bridal party). Patrick’s smiles were just as forced. She’s sure they were a grotesquely matched set, and dreads picking up the photos from the printer when they get back.

For now, though, she can put those thoughts aside. They’re touring the Mediterranean coasts, by boat and by train and by car. The sea is different in Valencia and Cannes: different shades of blue, different flavors of salt on the breeze, different kinds of boats in the surf. It’s funny the way a shift in perspective (the angle of the sun, the elevation, the language spoken around them) makes the same water seem entirely new.

There are plenty of sandy beaches and plenty of sheer cliffs. Patrick is mildly obsessed with the latter. A guide explains to them that one of the Greek words to describe cliffsides actually translates to ‘without goats,’ as a way to denote steepness. Jean isn’t sure she believes it, but she likes the thought.

The sun on this day is white and bright and seems to leach the color from everything else. The taste on the wind is chalky rather than salty. “What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“Falling,” Patrick says. It’s hard to tell which way he’s looking behind his sunglasses. After a long moment, he says, “Why? What are you thinking about?”

“Flying.” Jean points up, and he tilts his head back. They both watch the birds circling.

On the train, Patrick asks if she’s read anything by Patricia Highsmith. She hasn’t, though the name is familiar. She asks why he wants to know. He says he thinks she might like them; that he read a few Highsmith novels when he was younger. He doesn’t sound certain, and they both let the subject drop.

Jean sends her sister a postcard from Taormina and writes _wish you were here!_ but it’s a lie. She doesn’t want her sister or anyone else here. In her most selfish moments, she wishes instead that no one else were here at all. She would rather have the world reduced to Patrick and herself, uninterrupted. She says as much in the gray light of dawn. It’s not something she would have admitted if she were more than half-awake.

Patrick is neither amused nor dismissive. “I sometimes wonder if I underestimated you,” he says. Jean smiles (a real smile that no cameras will ever see) and tucks herself against his side before drifting back to sleep.


End file.
